How the Corpse Stole Christmas
by Grissom
Summary: Grissom, Sara, Greg, and Brass are trapped in a haunted house on Christmas Eve. Can they survive the spooky events and the company of each other? Some GS, of course.
1. A Very Merry Assignment

"How the Corpse Stole Christmas"

by 'Grissom'

12-01-04

**A/N: As usual, I must thank my friend and beta, Grissomgal71 for her dedicated work, even when I send her other, non-related materials on a whim. Thanks a ton! Any remaining mistakes can either be blamed on me, or the person who decided to schedule my finals. Your choice.**

Grissom frowned as he approached his office. The door was cracked and though the lights were off, a strange glow still emanated from the room. He set his briefcase onto the floor and slowly pushed the door open the rest of the way.

Someone had taken Christmas lights and laced them through his shelves and jars of embalmed critters.

For a long time, he watched as the lights blinked on and off, on and off. Then he sighed and shuffled to his desk, flipping on the desk lamp. There was the usual array of Christmas cards tossed onto his desk. Many were from lab techs he was sure he'd never met, many of whom wanted either a pay raise or a good word to Cavallo.

Grissom opened a drawer and shoved all of the envelopes inside. He wouldn't have time to read them until he finished his shift.

He was pulling out the assignment sheets when there was a soft knock on his door. He glanced up at Sara briefly before scribbling something onto the papers. "How many do we have?" he asked.

"You, me, Greg, Warrick-"

"And a partridge in a pear tree," Greg suddenly interrupted, bounding into Grissom's office with a bounce that they hadn't seen in him for a while. The holiday season had to be getting to his head.

Sara glared at him, and Grissom simply stared at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," Greg said, feeling a little dejected.

Sara turned back to Grissom. "Hodges, Bobby, and Mia. Everyone else took off for Christmas."

Grissom nodded. "So we're running on a skeleton crew. Lucky for us, the criminals must be in the holiday spirit. Only one smash and grab and one 419."

"Dead body? Who gets that case?" Sara asked, not eager to be the one stuck with the smash and grab.

"You, me, and Junior," he replied, indicating Greg, who grinned and pumped his fist in the air. Grissom ignored him. "Warrick can get the other case. He's already maxed out on overtime from the Santa shootout."

He stood up from his chair and began walking out. Sara and Greg fell into step with him, Greg not as naturally as Sara. Grissom glanced at his notes as they walked. "We've got a dead, female body found in an old abandoned house. Found by a couple of kids when they broke inside. Apparently, the house is supposed to be haunted, and the kids wanted to awaken the ghosts." He shrugged. "Brass is there waiting on us."

Brass leaned against the hood of his Taurus, staring at the home that loomed above him, eerily silhouetted against the cloudy sky. A young cop came down from the front steps – trying hard not to look afraid – and gave the detective a thumbs-up. The house was clear. Brass nodded in return, then stole a glance at his watch.

_Ten-thirty_. Grissom and his gang would be here any minute, ready to sniff out the clues. He looked over at the small entourage that had gathered about the abandoned home. Two cops and the assistant coroner. Everyone else was either assigned to another area or off for the holiday. While Brass had nothing against St. Nick, he hated the holidays. Mostly because he was stuck with a half-a-dozen rookies to work with. He couldn't wait for Christmas to be over so he could get back to a full staff.

He caught one of the young cops staring at his watch sadly. _Blake Redden,_ Brass recalled. Redden had a wife and baby waiting for him to come home. Brass couldn't help but envy him a little bit. All that waited for _him_ at home was a sappy Christmas movie on cable and a bottle of Jack Daniels…

Such had become his holiday tradition over the years. Work, go home, drink until he couldn't drink anymore, and deal with the hangover the next day. At one time, he had sent Ellie gifts, odd little things he'd hope she liked, but that had stopped when the packages kept being returned to sender. So now he had an odd assortment of women's sweatshirts and t-shirts shoved into an extra closet, still in the boxes they'd been mailed in.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts when he heard the CSIs' SUV pull up. He pushed himself away from the hood and habitually straightened his suit jacket, which was all but hidden beneath a brown coat.

Grissom, Sara, and Greg all stepped out of the car, retrieving their field kits before turning their attention to the house.

"Wow…" Greg said, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Brass smirked and stepped toward the CSIs. "Reminds me of the House of Usher," he commented, getting a matching smirk from Sara, a nod from Grissom, and a confused look from Greg.

"Usher? I didn't know he lived in Vegas," Greg commented. Then he scoffed. "Seems like he would have picked better digs than this…"

For a long time, Grissom, Brass, and Sara just stared at him.

"Edgar Allen Poe, Greg. Not the singer," Sara finally said, rolling her eyes.

"Great, the one time I make a literary reference, little Greggy has to ruin it," Brass quipped. Greg shook his head in annoyance.

"What do we have, Jim?" Grissom asked, pulling the attention away from the embarrassed Greg.

Brass flipped open his small notebook. "Jenni Compton, twenty-eight. Couple of junior high kids found her while playing ghostbuster. David's in there now, but it looks like she was shot."

"How old is this house?" Greg asked, his mouth hanging open again.

"As old as Vegas. The people who lived here moved out about five years ago. Never sold the property, and no one's lived in it since," Brass told them, shoving the notebook back into his pocket. "The place is huge. You could probably fit the lab inside."

Grissom raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Where's the body?"

"In a living room," the detective replied, turning to walk inside and knowing that the CSI's would follow.

After a few minutes of fighting through cobwebs and coughing up dust, they found David Phillips leaning over a female body. He jumped a little as the group stepped up behind him. He took a moment to catch his breath, then turned to them.

"Body's been here about a day. Rigor mortis is set, so is lividity." He pointed to a hole in the torso. "Entry wound." He turned the body over and pointed to a larger wound on the back. "The bullet exited less than an inch from the spine."

Grissom peered closely at the entrance wound. "Unburnt gunpowder." He looked up at Greg. "And what does that mean, Sanders?"

"Um…"Greg took a moment to search his brain, the little 'pop quiz' taking him by surprise, as was intended. "It means the vic was shot at closer range."

"Good. But it wasn't a contact shot, or else there would be burn marks on the skin." He picked up the vic's hand, studying the cuts and bruises. "Looks like defensive wounds on the hands. She fought back."

Sara turned on her Maglite and looked around the room. "Looks like an end table was knocked over in the struggle, judging from the void in the dust."

"Got a bloody handprint on the wall," Greg commented, snapping a few pictures before taking a swab.

"Well, there's no blood on her hands, so it must be from the killer," Sara said.

"Or another victim," Grissom added with a raised brow. "See if you can get any ridge detail."

"None of my guys saw another body, but it is a big house," Brass said, stepping out of Sara's way as she scanned the rest of the room. "Only the front door was open."

Grissom searched the body for a few more minutes, but found nothing else. He nodded at David. "All yours, David."

The assistant coroner nodded in return, then stepped out for a moment, returning with a gurney and another assistant. They loaded up the body, strapped it in, and wheeled it out.

Brass took this time to follow them out, studying the young cops again. Finally, he sighed and made his way over to Redden. The rookie straightened up and cast a frightened glance in his friend's direction.

"What time does your shift end?" Brass asked the young man.

"Uh…about eleven-thirty, sir. But that was before I took this call." He searched the captain's tired face, trying to see if his answer had been the correct one.

Brass nodded, shifting on his feet. "Why don't you go ahead and head on home? I'm sure your wife would like to see you, and you got that kid to worry about." He gave the young man a terse smile. "Wouldn't want to miss her first Christmas, get off on the wrong foot." _Because I know I did... _

Redden stared at him for a moment, searching for words. Brass smiled again, patting the man's shoulder. "Go on. Go see your family."

"Are you sure, sir? I mean…somebody's gotta stay while the CSI's do their work."

"Hey, calm down. I'll be here, and I'll put Smitty there at the front door," he said, waving his hand at the other rookie, Marcus Smith.

Redden glanced at Smith, who looked half asleep himself, then back at Brass. He nodded, then turned to walk back to his patrol car.

"Have fun," Brass called, shaking his head as he turned to go back to the house. He watched the coroner's van drive off, leaving only his Taurus, the CSIs' SUV, and Smith's patrol, lights flashing. He motioned for Smith to go stand by the door, then went back inside.

He stepped through the dust and cobwebs again to where the CSI's were busy collecting what little evidence they could find. Sara was scanning the dusty couch, Grissom was looking through the bookshelves, and Greg had taken to crawling across the floor, flashlight in hand.

Brass sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, contemplating going to wait outside. He shook the idea off, knowing that it was against protocol.

Just then, the quartet heard slamming from deep within the house, getting closer and closer to them. Brass had his gun out in an instant, though he was unsure of where he should be pointing it. The noise seemed to come from all around them…Then it reached the room they stood in.

All of the doors in the room suddenly swung shut, one at a time, the noise echoing in their ears. Brass' eyes were wide as he swung his gun from one door to another. Greg slowly backed away from the walls, standing up. Grissom put an arm around Sara, instinctively pulling her closer as if to protect her.

Finally, all of the slamming stopped, plunging the house into a dead silence, save for the group's frantic breathing. Brass kept his gun out, but relaxed a little bit. It wouldn't do him any good to be tense with his finger still on the trigger.

"Everybody okay?" he asked, scanning the room.

"Yeah," Greg called out, his voice a little shaky.

Grissom looked at Sara, who nodded, but did not remove his hand from her back. "We're fine, Jim. What the hell is going on?"

"I dunno…" the detective replied, stepping towards one of the doors. He pressed his back against the wall, leaning his head closer. He listened for a moment, then looked up at the CSI's. "Voices," he mouthed, reaching for the door knob. He glanced once more at the CSI's, watching as Grissom pulled out his own weapon, then grasped the knob, ready for anything that could be on the other side.

But when his hand closed over the knob, he felt a searing pain spread through his hand. He cried out, jerking away and pushing himself from the wall. He staggered over to where the CSI's were standing, dropping his gun along the way.

"What happened?" Sara asked, studying the captain's pained expression and clenched teeth. He didn't reply; he just shook his head. He tried to walk past her, holding his wounded hand in the other.

Sara entertained the thought of letting him go and deal with the pain on his own, but it was against her nature. She reluctantly pulled away from Grissom, grabbed Brass' shoulder, and forced him to turn around.

"Let me see," she demanded, the tone of her voice leaving no room for argument. Grissom wanted to laugh at the expression on Brass' face as he let Sara look at his hand, but sobered when he saw the condition of his friend's palm.

The skin was red, and already blistering. Sara made a face. "Looks like a second-degree burn," she commented.

Grissom frowned, then kneeled down to open his field kit. He sifted through the bottom for a moment and stood up with a nearly empty roll of gauze. He handed it to Sara, shrugging at her questioning gaze. "You never know when it'll come in handy."

Sara smirked and turned her attention back to Brass, whose expression reminded her of a wounded five-year-old. "This will only be a temporary fix. Enough to keep the dust and dirt out. Normally you'd let cool water run over it, but we don't have any here, and I really doubt you'd want to touch the water here if the pipes _did_ work."

Brass watched as Sara emptied the roll, wrapping it around his hand and making sure that it stuck. She released his hand, and he habitually rubbed the back of it.

"Thanks," he said softly, more embarrassed than anything.

Sara nodded, then turned her attention back to Grissom, who was peering closely at the door. He tapped his fingers on the knob a few times, then put his whole hand on it. He looked up at Sara and Jim.

"It's cold. Ice cold."

Brass frowned, then stepped forward to press his good hand against the knob. He looked up at Grissom, shocked. "It is."

"How can that be?" Sara asked. "I mean, you saw his hand. He didn't just make it up."

Grissom shrugged. "I don't know what happened. But I really think we should get out of this house."

"Do you think the officers missed someone hiding in here?" Greg asked.

Grissom's eyes scanned the room. "Let's just say…I don't think we're welcome here."

Greg's eyes darted about the large room, eventually falling on Brass' gun, still lying on the floor. He stepped forward and scooped it up, then went to where Brass was standing. Jim had taken to leaning against a dusty chair, wincing as he moved his fingers on his right hand. He looked up as the CSI approached.

"You…uh…dropped this," Greg said, always seeming to be unnerved around the judgmental captain.

Brass reached out with his good hand and grabbed the gun. He flipped the safety on, then reholstered it. He nodded his thanks.

"All right," Grissom was saying as he snapped his field kit shut. "We're going to call it a night here. We'll take what we have to the lab and come back in the morning." He turned to Brass. "Keep an officer on the look-out in case there _is_ somebody inside the house. And you'll need to get that hand looked at."

Brass rolled his eyes. "Okay, mom."

Grissom just shook his head and picked up his kit. "You guys go ahead and gather up all the bags. I'm going to let the officer know what's going on."

Sara watched as Grissom disappeared around a corner, then knelt down to pack up her kit. She snapped it shut after getting everything in place and made sure that Greg did the same. Her gaze then shifted to Brass, who was making a face as he stared at his wrapped hand.

"How you doing over there, Brass?" she asked.

He sighed and shrugged. "Hurts like hell."

She smirked. "Don't worry. You'll live."

Brass smiled, and Sara could practically hear the gears turning in his head, formulating all kinds of sarcastic remarks. But before he could let one of them out, Grissom rushed back into the room.

He jerked a thumb towards the front of the house. "The door's stuck. It's unlocked and nothing's in the way, but it won't budge."

Brass gave Grissom a confused frown. "Huh?"

"The _door_ won't _open_," Grissom repeated pointedly.

"I heard you," Brass growled, stepping past Grissom to check for himself. Grissom sighed and followed the detective; Greg and Sara were close behind.

Brass tapped the handle a few times, still very wary, then turned the knob and pulled. Nothing. He put his other hand on the knob gently and pulled again. He kept pulling until his face was red. Finally, his hands slipped, and an embarrassed Brass found himself sitting on the floor. Greg suppressed a laugh, remembering that he _had_ given the captain his gun back.

Brass groaned as he stood up and pounded his fist on the door. "Officer Smith!" he shouted, knowing that neither the door nor the walls were thick enough to mute his shouts. "Officer Smith!"

"Is he still out there?" Greg asked.

"He'd better be," Brass replied, pounding once more.

Sara glanced at Grissom, who was looking down the hall with an odd expression on his face. She put a hand on his arm, startling him. "What is it?"

"Nothing. I just…" He sighed, shaking his head. "I feel like we're not alone. We're not welcome."

"If we're not welcome, why can't we open the door? Why keep us in here?"

"We took too long. What happened to Brass was a warning."

"Hate to interrupt your little séance, Grissom, but we can't get the door open." Greg had suddenly appeared behind them, looking understandably stressed.

Grissom glanced at the door, where Brass had taken to picking the lock with his pocket knife. He stepped over to him to check the progress. "It's amazing what they teach cops these days," he quipped.

Brass grinned, his wrapped hand fumbling with the utensil. "They teach you some of this stuff. Most of it you learn on your own."

"When did you learn how to pick locks?"

"Initially? At sixteen. Me and a group of guys busted into an old warehouse. It was fun," he said, shrugging, "until we got caught."

Sara smiled and leaned forward into their vision. "Why do I have a hard time picturing you as a juvenile delinquent?"

"Oh yeah. I was a little hell raiser for a while there. Then I got to spend a night in jail. Sobered me right up." He sighed and shut the pocket knife. "This door's _not_ moving." He tried the knob again to prove his point.

Grissom frowned and turned to peer down the hall way again. "Maybe there's a back door. Or, as a last resort, we can break a window." He glanced back at the trio and stood up. "Come on."

Grudgingly, Sara, Brass, and Greg followed Grissom deeper into the dark house, with Greg whistling the 'X-Files' theme song as he walked.

TBC


	2. Separate, But Equal

**A/N: New chapter, yay! It's a shorter one, but more is coming, I promise! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I was surprised at the reception this fic got, and it just makes me all the more determined to work on it more! Thanks again goes to Grissomgal71 for her beta job, constructive comments, and threats to finish. Thanks, Jamie!**

"This place may have been abandoned, but it wasn't empty," Sara commented as she moved her flashlight over the objects strewn on the floor.

"Needles, balloons, razor blades for cutting drugs, pipes," Grissom said, studying the floor. "All we're missing is used condoms."

"Nope," Brass said pointedly, training his flashlight on a corner. He raised an eyebrow. "Looks like a party."

Greg wrinkled his nose and tried to step around the clutter. He glanced around the room, taking in all of the plastic-covered furniture, the dust-covered shelves. "How many rooms are in this house?"

Brass frowned and pulled his little notebook out of his pocket. "I got some basic information from the owners. They didn't appreciate being woken up," he added, shrugging. "Okay…from what they said…fifteen bedrooms…five 'living rooms', two kitchens…six bathrooms…" He sighed and shut the book. "They've been thinking about turning the place into a hotel or something."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "_Fifteen_ bedrooms? I didn't know they made houses that big! I've got two."

"One," Sara added.

"Three," Brass said, getting a few surprised glances. "I only use one of 'em."

Grissom smirked. "I've got two. Now can we get back to finding our way out?" He turned his flashlight to a wall, studying the two doors in it. He went from one to the other, then stepped closer to them. "Okay…the way I figured it, if the back door is parallel to the front door, we need to go this direction." He pointed at Greg and Brass. "You guys check this door," he indicated the right. "Sara and I will check this one."

Brass nodded and shot Greg a warning glance. Greg understood and held up his hands. "I won't say a word."

"You just did," Brass growled, stepping up to the door. He pulled it open carefully, then disappeared inside. Greg soon followed.

Grissom sighed and reached for the knob on the other door. "Hopefully we can get through this quickly. I really don't want to be in here."

Sara stared at the door Brass and Greg had disappeared through apprehensively. "Do you really think we should split up?"

"It's only for a minute." He shrugged. "It's just one door." He pushed open his door, tilting his head as an indication for Sara to go through. She did, and he followed.

She frowned as she glanced around the small room. "Looks like a bedroom," she said, noting the plastic-covered bed and dresser. "No one's been in here for a long time, judging by the dust on the floor."

Grissom frowned as well and looked around. "No exit except for this one. C'mon," he said, stepping out of the bedroom.

He shut the door behind them, then turned around to see Sara staring at the room with an odd expression on her face. "What is it?"

"Something's different."

"Something's different, how?" he asked, making a face.

"This isn't the same room we were just in."

"Sara…I didn't even close the door. We came in and out of the same door."

"Grissom…" She sighed in frustration. "_Look_," she commanded. She moved her flashlight over the room. "There are no footprints in the dust, there's less furniture. And look," she turned around, "there's no other door on this wall."

Grissom's eyes were wide as he moved closer to the smooth wall where the door should have been. He turned to Sara. "Then what happened to Greg and Jim?"

"You know…this place is really creepy," Greg commented, glancing around the spacious room. "It's like…something straight out of the Haunted Mansion."

Brass looked up from his position by the door, where he was desperately trying to get it open. "The Disney ride?" he asked, more than slightly irritated. "That was creepy to you?"

Greg shrugged. "I think it was a childhood trauma. My parents took me when I was four. Never recovered…" He stopped and glanced at Brass, who had frozen and fixed the CSI with a half-confused, half-concerned expression. Greg grinned, then grimaced when he turned away.

Brass finally gave up with the door, sinking down to a sitting position next to it. "What is it with this place?" He slammed his good hand against the door in frustration.

"You know, this place might be haunted. We had an old house in the neighborhood when I grew up. The owner died inside and no one else ever moved in for more than a few weeks. So it became a game for some of the kids to snoop around inside. Well, they kept running out, screaming that the old lady was chasing them. So-"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Brass asked irritably.

Greg gave him a half-shrug. "Not when I'm scared or nervous. Then I always end up talking too much."

"I'll say." Brass dug through his pockets for a moment, finally pulling out a brightly wrapped object. He tossed it at Greg's feet. "Maybe this'll help."

Greg frowned and stooped to pick it up. "What is it?"

"One of them Whatchamacallits."

Greg rolled his eyes, then saw that that was actually the name of the candy bar. He smiled sheepishly. "Thanks. You know, I never pictured you as the kind of guy to keep munchies in his pocket."

"Life's full of surprises." Brass smirked and got to his feet. "At the very least, maybe the caramel will stick your teeth together."

Greg flashed him a sarcastic smile and continued to look around, slipping the candy bar into his pocket. "You wanna try this door?" he asked, pointing to it.

"Well, I'd like to get back to Gil and Sara. That way maybe we won't get too lost." He reached for the gun on his holster, pulling it out. "Stay back," he commanded, then fired six shots at the lock.

Greg cringed and covered his ears. When the shooting stopped, he turned and watched the detective as he kicked the door. At first it didn't budge, but Greg heard the sound of splintering wood when Brass kicked it again. One more kick, and the door swung open.

Brass let out a breath, then motioned for Greg to follow him through. Greg took another moment to look around the small room before rushing after him.

He found Brass standing in a small hallway, a confused expression on his face as he looked from one end of the hall to the other. Greg stepped up beside him.

"Are you sure that was the right door?" he asked, staring at the doors lining the hall. Brass glared at him, and Greg held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. But how did we end up here?"

Brass shrugged, then turned back to re-open the door they had just come out of. It opened, but Brass found himself staring at a brick wall. He let his hands fall to his sides and turned back to the younger man.

"Okay…This is just getting ridiculous.

TBC


	3. Plates, Corpses, and One Very Scared Gre...

**Chapter Three**

**A/N: Thanks goes again, and always, to Grissomgal71 for her wonderful beta job. And thanks to all those who were patient enough to wait for the latest installment.**

"Grissom, I swear we're going back and forth," Sara said tiredly as she moved to Grissom's side.

Grissom made a face and studied the room they had just stepped into. Same plastic-covered couch, same dusty bookshelves, and their footsteps from the last time they'd walked through. "We're chasing our tails."

"And we're still no closer to find Brass and Greg."

"Or the door out," Grissom added, pulling open a door they had earlier discovered to be a closet. This time, however, Grissom and Sara found themselves staring into an expansive dining room.

They exchanged confused glances, then stepped into the large room. The door behind them shut with a slam, causing Sara to jump and instinctively grasped Grissom's arm. He looked down at her hand for a moment, then patted it with his own.

She gave him a smile before releasing his arm and turned her attention to their new surroundings.

"Well, the good news is that we're in a different room," he commented, trying to lighten the mood a little. He then froze, watching a small cloud dissipate in front of his mouth. "Sara…" he said softly, making another puff appear.

Sara felt the change in temperature as well. Her breath showed in small clouds in front of her, and she felt goosebumps rising on her skin.

A loud creak emanated from above them, causing both to jump, then seemed to travel down into the room. Everywhere they turned, the CSI's heard the creaking and groaning of old wood. It came from nowhere and everywhere and it almost seemed as though the house were ready to collapse upon itself.

Then, as suddenly as the noise began, it stopped, plunging them into complete silence. Grissom glanced around, then took a few steps closer to Sara. The sound of splintering wood erupted behind him, and he all but leapt over to Sara. She may have found the expression on his face comical had their situation been different.

They shakily turned to study the source, seeing the broken remains of one of the dining chairs scattered where Grissom had been standing seconds before.

Sara's eyes were wide as she looked at Grissom, but his interest appeared to be somewhere else. She followed his gaze to an expansive china cabinet opposite them, then heard the noise. It was rattling, as if the floor were shaking and causing the plates to clatter against each other. She turned back to Grissom when he grasped her arm.

"Sara…I think we should get out of this room," he whispered, carefully eyeing the clattering dishes.

"Grissom?" she asked softly; his behavior was frightening her a little bit.

"C'mon," he urged, tugging on her arm. But as soon as he took a step, the rattling increased in intensity. "Run!" he shouted, all but dragging Sara after him as he sprinted towards the nearest door.

Sara heard a crash behind her, and stole a glance. She watched, shocked, as the dishes flew off their shelves, shattering as they slammed into the wall right behind her.

Grissom reached the door first, pulling it open. Then he turned and grabbed Sara by both arms and practically threw her into the other room as a plate shattered inches from his head. She caught her balance, then turned to grasp his hand and pull him after her.

Suddenly, he cried out in pain and surprise, stumbling and falling back against the wall. He sank to the floor, dazed.

"Grissom!" Sara shouted, lunging back into the dining room. She grabbed a handful of Grissom's jacket front and awkwardly tried to pull him to safety. Luckily, he regained his some of his senses and got his feet working enough to push himself through the door. Sara slammed the door shut, listening to the thuds and shattering from the other room.

She turned her attention to Grissom, who had sunk onto a dusty chair with a hand on his head, grimacing.

Sara put a hand on his knee and hunkered down in front of him. "What happened?"

He frowned. "I think one clipped me," he replied, pulling his hand away and studying the blood on it.

"Let's see," Sara said as she stood up. He sighed, but allowed her to inspect the wound, which turned out to be a cut running from his temple to his ear. The cut itself wasn't bad, but she knew the impact was going to leave Grissom with a slight headache.

She dug through her jacket pockets for a moment, producing a few tissues. Gently, she pressed them against the small wound. Grissom raised an eyebrow, but made no move to stop her. She smiled. "Don't worry. The tissues are new. I just keep a few in my pocket, just in case."

He nodded. "Good thing." He reached a hand up and put his fingers over hers. Her heart fluttered a little bit, and she felt her face reddening in reaction. She removed her hand, making sure Grissom still held his against the wound, and straightened up.

She patted his shoulder. "You'll be fine. And I think I have some aspirin in my kit," she added, looking around for the silver case.

Grissom saw her expression change and frowned. "What is it?"

"Our kits…I can't find them."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "They must be in there," he said, nodding his head toward the door they had just come through.

"Great…That's just wonderful," Sara said, exasperated. "I'm not going back in there. No way!"

Grissom smirked, then winced and put a hand up to his head. "Don't worry about it, Sara. At this moment, the last thing I'm worried about is our fingerprint brushes."

"Well, I had my cell phone in there, Grissom."

He shook his head. "Won't work." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone to hand it to Sara. "There's no reception; I've tried."

Sara glanced at the phone, reading the ominous 'No Service' on the small screen. Then she groaned and handed the phone back. "Well, that's just great, isn't it?"

Grissom allowed a small smile to cross his face. Frustrated Sara wasn't someone he was permitted to see very often. And since the frustration wasn't directed towards him, he allowed himself a moment of entertainment at her expense. Then he let the grin disappear before she noticed, knowing that if she did see, the target of the frustration would be him.

"I think we should see if we can find Jim and Greg. I mean, I'd hate to find a way out and leave those two."

Sara let out a small laugh. "Poor Brass…Stuck eternally with Greg in a haunted house."

* * *

"Do you think we're any closer to getting out?" Greg asked as Brass reached for another door knob.

The police captain rolled his eyes. "And how would I know that? Every time you think you know something about this house, it changes."

"I wonder if it did this to the people that lived here. I mean, that would kind of suck. Get up in the middle of the night when you gotta go to the bathroom….Only to find that the bathroom has changed places, so now you don't know where to go."

Brass was surprised when he actually chuckled at that. Perhaps the stress was getting to him… "Yeah, I'd imagine that wouldn't be very pretty." He shook his head and pushed a door open. Then he rolled his eyes and shut the door again.

"Same room?" Greg asked.

"Same room," Brass confirmed, his voice weary. The last ten doors they'd opened had all lead to the same room, complete with faded painting on the wall and flowered bedspread.

"Maybe something wants us to go into that room?" Greg asked as he stared at the closed door.

Brass made a face. "If anything in this house wants me to go somewhere, I'm going the opposite way." He pushed open another door and peered inside. "Bathroom?"

Greg frowned and stuck his head around the doorjamb. "Bathroom," he verified, then stepped past Brass inside. He glanced around, taking in the old fixtures and layer of water that covered the floor.

"What's your hurry, Sanders?" Brass asked, stepping inside after him. "You gotta go?"

Greg rolled his eyes. "It's different. I want to know why."

"What makes you think there's any rhyme or reason to this place? It's all meant to screw with our heads. And let me tell you, it's working."

"Yeah…" He continued to study the tile floor, following it to the wall and glancing briefly at the old bathtub. Then he looked at the sink, where a small stream of water was flowing from the faucet, going into an already full sink before spilling onto the floor. He frowned and reached forward to turn the faucet off.

He looked up at the mirror, then recoiled in terror. Instead of his normal face, he saw what looked like a four-day-old corpse, flesh rotted out and eyeballs missing. His panic sent him tumbling into Brass before rushing out back into the hallway.

Brass followed him, his face showing that he wasn't sure if he should be worried about Greg, or scared _of_ him. "What?" he asked, then wanted to kick himself when it came out rougher than he'd intended.

Greg leaned against the wall and took a moment to compose himself. "The mirror…I saw…looked dead…freaky…I think I'm gonna throw up…"

"Hey, hey!" Brass exclaimed, holding up his hands. "Give me a minute to get out of the way." Then he turned serious, leaning down so he could look the former lab rat in the face. "What did you see, Greg?"

Greg took a deep breath. "When I looked in the mirror…I saw…"

"Your reflection?" Brass suggested when Greg paused. "Hey, don't worry pal. I'd freak out if I saw _that_, too."

Greg laughed in spite of himself, then gave the captain his harshest glare. "Not funny." He glanced back towards the mirror. "It looked like I was dead…"

Brass frowned, serious now. "No chance it was just your imagination?"

"Man, if my imagination is making me see things like that…I need a shrink."

Brass gave Greg a friendly slap on the back. "Don't worry, Greg. It's just the house trying to mess with your head."

"Doing a pretty good job," Greg replied. Finally he shook his head and straightened up, looking much more stable than before.

"All right?" Brass asked.

Greg nodded. "Yup. Ready to go and…probably get lost again."

"That's the spirit." Brass smirked and stepped out of the room, waiting for Greg to follow before closing the door behind them. He looked down the hall and made his way to the next door, half expecting it to open up to a room they had already seen. But to his surprise, he saw a flight of stairs going up.

Raising an eyebrow, Brass turned to Greg. Then he motioned with his hand. "Ladies first."

_TBC_

**Feedback appreciated.**


	4. Falling

**Sorry for the long wait. I'd sent this off to my beta, Grissomgal71, but haven't heard back from her yet. Jamie, I'm sending search dogs!**

**So…any mistakes are my own fault.**

"Well, the upstairs seems to be in much better condition," Brass commented as he swept his flashlight over the furniture. "No plastic coverings, but there's only a little dust." He ran his finger across the surface of a small table. "Not much at all. Not enough for a house that's been abandoned as long as this one."

"You think someone's been living here?" Greg asked, studying a faded painting hanging on the wall."

"Well, they may have been in the past, but not now. There's a little too _much_ dust for a person to be living here. Keep your eyes open though, just in case."

Greg watched Brass as he unclipped his gun, though he left it in the holster. This made Greg even more nervous, knowing that there had to be a good reason for the captain to ready his weapon. He swallowed a lump in his throat. "You think we'll ever get out of here?"

Brass snorted. "Of course. Everything has to end. If it takes us breaking a window and climbing out, we'll get out of this hellhole of a house."

"What if the windows are like that door, and we can't get through those either?"

"Glass always breaks, Greg. Even bullet-proof glass, eventually," he added, scanning the hallway they had just entered. He sighed. "Great. More doors."

"Well…what if the glass is haunted and won't break?" Greg asked, ignoring Brass' comment.

"Then we'll play Santa and go up a chimney. Now will you shut up with the questions?" Brass snapped, turning abruptly to face Greg, who nodded quickly. The detective studied him for a moment, then turned back to the hall.

Quietly, they made their way down the hall, peering in doors as they passed. Unlike the lower floor, all of the doors were open, allowing them to see inside without stepping inside. Most of the rooms were bedrooms, but every now and then they would see a small library instead.

Eventually, the hallway opened up into a large, nearly empty room. The only pieces of furniture were a grand piano situated in the middle of the floor and a bench. Dust covered the top and the keys, while cobwebs spanned from leg to leg. Brass made his way to the instrument and ran his hand over the keys.

He lifted it up to show Greg. "Plenty of dust on this."

Greg nodded, then proceeded to scan the rest of the room. Aside from the hallway they had just come out of, there were only three doors. There were no decorations on the walls and no windows. Greg was in the process of studying the floors when he heard a few tunes of a song being played out on the piano. He turned around to see Brass idly pressing the keys.

Brass caught Greg's stare and stopped, giving the younger man a small, embarrassed smile. He cleared his throat, then resumed his inspection of the room in a slightly exaggerated manner. Greg smirked and turned his attention back to the floor. He caught sight of what looked like a footprint in the dust, and was kneeling down to peer closer when the music started up again. '_Waltz_ _of the Flowers_', Greg thought idly.

Greg rolled his eyes and turned back to the piano, getting ready to have a sarcastic comment ready for the captain. However, when he saw the piano, there was no one there. He looked around, seeing Brass standing near one of the doors, staring fearfully at the piano. Looking closer, Greg could see that while the keys were being pressed as well as the pedals, there was nobody there.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Greg carefully took a few steps towards the piano, holding a hand out.

Brass watched with wide eyes. "Sanders…what the hell are you doing?" he asked in a harsh whisper. While Brass wasn't the kind to usually believe in ghosts and curses, he _really_ didn't want to piss of whatever spirits were haunting them.

"I just…I just want to see," Greg answered, taking another few steps. Finally he reached the piano, which continued to play. Watching the keys depress, he slowly put his hand down on the ivory. He immediately recoiled, clutching his hand to his chest. "It's freezing!"

The music stopped, leaving the pair in silence that seemed almost deafening. The soft sound of wind whistling filled the room, unnerving them even more. Brass put his hand on his gun, though he knew it would be of no use against anything that attacked them in this house. Greg quickly moved away from the piano, choosing to stand against a wall.

The whistling increased in intensity, and Brass swore that he could hear a voice whispering in the sound of the wind. His pulse quickened, and he could feel the sweat forming on his brow. Normally, such a show of fear would have embarrassed him, but he really didn't care now. He _was_ scared out of his wits.

Brass heard a whisper right by his ear and instinctively turned to find the source. He saw nothing, and the whisper moved to the other side. He couldn't make out words, but could tell that the 'speaker' wasn't a happy camper. A wind picked up around him, stirring up dust and dirt.

He coughed as it filled his lungs and stung his eyes. It was getting hard to breathe. He covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and looked up to try and locate Greg. He couldn't see through the dust cloud that enveloped him, and the fact that he couldn't breathe didn't help him either. He narrowed his eyes and took a step forward, attempting to get to fresh air.

Then, the whispers around him stopped, and were replaced by a horrible scream. Brass was vaguely reminded of a banshee. He coughed again and looked up into the cloud. The dust swirled in front of him, darkening as he watched. He frowned and peered closer…Only to let out a straggled cry as the smoky form of a skull flew at him, sprung from the dust cloud itself.

Brass felt an impact against his chest, and the next thing he knew, he was flying backwards. His back hit the door behind him, but it gave way and he was falling…

Sara eyed the door nervously, her hand poised above the doorknob. Grissom sat behind her, trying to get his thoughts together through the pounding headache. She glanced at him, sitting in the musty chair with his head in his hands. Then she glanced at the door, knowing that behind it was a room filled with homicidal china.

"Grissom…I'm going to get our kits."

He pulled his head out of his hands and looked up at her. "What?"

"Our kits. I'm going to get them."

"Sara, no. It's too dangerous in there."

"Grissom, we haven't heard anything in there for at least twenty minutes. I'm just going to run in and out."

"We don't need the kits. There's nothing in them that can help us."

"How do you know that? We could always play MacGyver if needed."

Grissom smirked, then grimaced as his head pounded. He shook it gently. "I just don't want you getting hurt," he said softly, then turned his head towards a wall.

Sara turned back to the door and let out a smile. The comment was so Grissom, simple, but with so much meaning behind it. "I'll be right back. I'll prop the door open for an easy escape."

"Also so we don't get separated. You know how this house likes to shuffle rooms," he commented.

"Yeah…" she said, though honestly she hadn't given that a thought.

Recalling what had happened to Brass, she first tapped the doorknob a few times to make sure that she didn't get any third-degree-burns. Then she slowly pushed the door open and used a heavy chair to prop it open.

Inside, she saw the same dining room she and Grissom had fled from earlier. But any evidence of what had occurred earlier was gone. She saw no shattered plates on the floor, no indents in the wall from the impact of the plates, and no splintered chairs. Everything looked as though a maid had just come through and cleaned. Sara took a few steps further into the room, then glanced back at Grissom, who watched her with wide eyes. She looked forward and caught sight of their field kits neatly set on top of the dining table.

Cautiously, she made her way up to the table, casting a glance at the china cabinet that loomed a few feet away. She quickly grabbed both field kits and rushed out of the room, kicking the chair out of the way so the door could swing shut. She set the kits down on the floor and sank down next to them.

Grissom gave a concerned glance. "Are you okay? Nothing happened, right?"

Sara shook her head. "Nothing happened. It was just…unnerving being back in that room, so close to that cabinet."

"I'll bet," was all Grissom had in reply.

Sara rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless. "Now we can get you that aspirin you need. And don't try and say you don't need it," she added before Grissom could open his mouth. She pulled her case closer to her and opened it up, trying to remember where she kept her stash.

She had the sudden sensation that her skin was crawling. She shivered and pulled her hand out of the case. Crawling on her hand was a single, black spider. She frowned and flicked it off, annoyed that it was even there. She was about to reach back into her case when she saw hundreds and hundreds of little black spiders crawling out of her case.

She could only watch, frozen, as they crawled onto her arms, her legs, and made their way towards her face. Finally, the reality of what was happening hit her, and she screamed, kicking away from the case as she frantically slapped at her arms and face, trying to get the spiders off.

Something suddenly grabbed her about her waist, lifting her up. She screamed again, blindly swatting at the figure that now held her. She felt strong hands on either side of her face, shaking her gently.

"Sara, it's all right!" she heard a voice say. A very familiar voice…

She forced her eyes open, looking into the very concerned face of Grissom. His eyes studied her face for a moment, and she slowed her breathing.

"It's all right," he repeated, releasing her, though her kept a hand on her back.

She turned back to her case, which had been covered with spiders seconds before. But there was nothing. No spiders. She frowned and looked to Grissom for an answer.

He reached up to push a stray strand of hair out of her face. "The house. It's just the house messing with your head. There was nothing there. Nothing," he said with emphasis.

She nodded and shakily went back to her kit, reaching in and pulling out a foil packet of aspirin. She sheepishly handed them to Grissom, who accepted them with a smile.

She was about to ask him what they needed to do now when she heard something. Frowning, she stepped past him to try to identify the sound. She turned back to Grissom, who had his head cocked to the side as he too listened.

"'Waltz of the Flowers', I believe," he said.

"What?"

"It's a piano. Can't you hear it?" he asked, stepping across the room. He paused at a door, and listened before opening it.

Sara grabbed both kits and rushed after him and stepping past him to allow him to shut the door. She stood and studied the new room they had entered. A very large room, it had four doors lined up on the walls, couches set up for friendly conversations, and a flight of stairs leading up with a door at the top.

Grissom headed towards the stairs, still straining to hear the faint music. Finally he shook his head. "It stopped." He took a few steps up the stairs, his face a mask of concentration.

"Where are you going?" Sara asked, alarmed by the fact that he might be thinking of going into another room without her.

"I think it came from up here…" he said, taking more steps up the stairs until he was three-fourths of the way up. He turned back to look down at Sara, then heard a cry. He turned back to the door, just in time to see the door fly open and a dark figure fall towards him.

The figure hit him hard, knocking the breath out of him, and both tumbled down the stairs. Grissom was only vaguely aware of Sara shouting in alarm, and the muffled groans of the other falling figure. Then it was darkness…

**TBC…**


	5. Not Through Yet

**New chapter, finally. I apologize for the long wait. It most definitely wasn't planned. A combination of writer's block and lack of internet use was the culprit. That's it…right.**

**Big thanks to Jamie: my beta, cheering squad, and whip-wielder.**

1Jim Brass was only vaguely aware of the sound of someone shouting as he lay where he had landed. He frowned as some feeling returned to his mind, and became aware that he was laying on top of something. _Someone_, his mind told him through the haze that had set in.

He was still trying to clear his mind when someone else grasped his arm, using it to push him over. He coughed as his face hit the dusty floor, then forced himself to his knees, groaning as he did. He paled at the sight in front of him.

Grissom lay motionless on his back at the foot of the stairs, a large bruise rapidly appearing on his temple from the tumble down the stairs. Sara kneeled by him, running her hand over his hair.

"Come on, Grissom. Wake up, please?" _What if he doesn't wake up?_ "You have to wake up. We…I need you." _He's got to wake up; he just has to._ "Grissom…" she said softly. A million possibilities of what could be wrong ran through Sara's head, each one more severe than the last. She shook her head against the unbidden thought and put her hands on either side of Grissom's face, silently begging him.

Brass was having similarly grave thoughts about his friend. The panic had settled a bit, leaving him nearly nauseous. He made his way closer to them, peeling off his jacket as he did. He rolled it up and tapped Sara's arm to get her attention. She got the idea and lifted up Grissom's head gently, allowing Brass to slide the jacket underneath, giving Grissom something soft to lay on, as well as something to stabilize his head. Brass reached and opened one of Grissom's eyes.

He shook his head and let it close. "Completely rolled back. He's out of it," he said, stating the obvious.

Sara nodded ruefully and looked up at him. "Are you okay? I'm sorry, I didn't even ask. I just…" She looked back down at the still Grissom.

Brass smiled and nodded, ignoring the screaming pain in his head. "That's all right. And I'll live. I'll just tell the guys that I was attacked by a group of potheads or something."

"And beat them back all by yourself?" Sara asked with a grin.

"Damn straight."

A rattling sound at the top of the stairs caught their attention, and they looked up just as Greg threw open the door, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. And considering their past experiences, neither of them was about to cross that out as a possibility.

He fumbled down the stairs and his eyes never left Grissom. "What happened?" He looked up at Brass.

"I don't know." Brass glanced around the room as a small gust of air blew through his hair. He shivered. "But I think we should get out of this room."

Sara looked around and nodded. She then stood up and made her way to a door, throwing it open and glancing inside. "This one doesn't look so bad."

Brass nodded and turned back to Greg. "Look, Sanders. We're gonna have to carry him into that room without jostling him around too much. Can you do that?" Greg nodded, but Brass didn't look convinced.

Greg rolled his eyes and made a muscle. "Rock hard, baby."

The captain scoffed. "All right, Superman. Let's just get him in there."

* * *

Together, Brass and Greg managed to carry Grissom into the next room. It looked like it had been used as a living room, with a large couch and a few armchairs situated by a fireplace. Bookshelves filled with dusty volumes lined one wall, while two paintings and a door occupied another.

Sara yanked the cover from the couch, coughing as the dust was disrupted. They waited until most of it had settled before setting Grissom down onto the soft cushions. Brass' jacket was replaced with a small pillow.

Sara undid the top buttons on Grissom's shirt to allow him to breathe easier, then turned to Greg. "You wouldn't happen to have a bottle of water in your kit, would you?"

Greg thought for a moment and nodded. "I do, actually. I drank some of it though, if you don't mind swapping spit." He smiled, but Sara's stony face quickly made the expression disappear. He dug through his kit and pulled out a half-empty bottle, some of the label peeled off.

"Now I need a cloth. You got a handkerchief or something?" she asked Brass.

"No, sorry. I usually keep Kleenex but I'm all out of those. Gave my last few to Redden so he would stop wiping his nose on his sleeve."

Sara nodded and glanced around. Her eyes fell on the cover they had just torn from the couch and she snatched it up. She pulled a box cutter from her kit and began cutting a chunk off a corner. She took the water bottle and dumped a small amount on it, wrung it out, then poured more. She rung it out once more before folding it up neatly and laying it on Grissom's forehead.

She gazed at his still face for a moment. "C'mon, Gris. You've got to wake up."

* * *

A scream tore Sara from her restless sleep, and she lifted her head off her arms to search for the source. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, but she saw nothing when she looked around the room. Grissom was still on the couch, and Brass and Greg had fallen asleep with their backs against a wall. Greg's head had fallen onto Jim's shoulder as he slept and Sara smiled, taking out her camera and snapping a picture before either of them woke up.

She turned back to Grissom, getting up and moving away from the armchair she had settled against. At first it looked like nothing had changed, but her investigative sight set in and she saw that something indeed _had_ changed.

The cloth she had so carefully placed on his head was now clasped tightly in one of Grissom's hands. _Too tightly_, she thought to herself. She carefully stepped closer to him, leaning over to peer at his face.

His eyes flickered beneath the lids for a moment before they suddenly opened, the cerulean of his eyes a stark contrast to the sullen surroundings. He studied her a moment before she smiled.

"Good to have you back, Grissom," she said simply, knowing that he would only get irritated and stressed if she made a big deal. But she couldn't stop the grin from growing.

"What did I miss?" he asked, his voice scratchy.

"Not much," Sara replied, then turned to glance at Brass and Greg. "Though I think there may be something going on between those two."

Grissom lifted his head with a slight wince, then let a smile light up his features.

Sara felt her own spirits soar when he grinned. It was as if a small light had been lit in the darkness that was the hell-hole of a house they were trapped in.

"We should get a picture of that. Never know when we may need to blackmail for a warrant or coffee."

Sara held up her camera. "Beat ya to it."

They shared another smile. Grissom shifted in his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but a shrill ring cut through the dark, disrupting anything he may have been about to say. Grissom and Sara exchanged worried glances, then turned to see Brass and Greg waking up, hardly noticing their odd sleeping arrangements.

The small group cast worried glances around the room until they found the source of the noise: Sara's cell phone.

* * *

Greg stared at the phone for a long moment, then scrambled towards it, kicking Brass a few times in the process.

"Greg!" Grissom shouted, then winced at the pain that lanced through his head. Sara cast a worried glance his way before turning back to the frantic Greg, who was now fumbling with Sara's phone.

He pressed a button and held it up to his ear with a shaky hand. "H...hello?" 

There was nothing for a long moment, and Greg pulled the phone from his ear to study the screen. He frowned at the blank screen, then jumped as static erupted from the small speaker, filling the room. Brass and Sara clapped their hands to their ears, while Grissom grimaced and Greg stared on in horror.

"Get out of my house!" a raspy voice demanded through the phone. "Get out!" The voice faded, replaced by what sounded like a mixture of screams, nails scraping on chalkboards, and cats howling. Greg clenched his eyes shut against the horrid sounds, then did the only thing he could think of. He stood and chucked the phone against the wall as hard as he could. The phone shattered into a dozen pieces and the noises ceased.

Greg watched silently as the phone pieces settled on the thin carpet, working his mouth. He looked from Brass to Sara and Grissom. "I...I'm sorry. I thought that maybe we could get ahold of someone to help."

Brass got to his feet with a groan and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "It's all right, Greg. We all want to get out of here." He offered the CSI a small smile before moving past him to approach Grissom. "Hey, Gil. How's the noggin?"

Grissom shook his head in reply as he went to stand up, one hand going to his temple as he did. "Feels like I went a few rounds with Mike Tyson."

"At least you still have your ears," Greg quipped.

"Thank you, Greg." Grissom turned to Sara, who was studying him with a worried expression.

"Are you sure you should be getting up? I mean, you could have a concussion or something," she said, then immediately felt stupid.

"It probably would be best for me to stay still, but I don't think this house is going to allow us that luxury. We had better find the way out, and fast."

TBC


End file.
